


Stay or Leave, I Want You Not to Go

by VivificanousPrime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Family is binding, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jazz is passionate, Pre-War, Prowl Week 2020, Prowl is Oblivious, Prowl tries to aviod trouble but Jazz won't let him, Ratchet the match maker, Slow Burn, asking not to leave, talks of immigration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:29:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23794645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivificanousPrime/pseuds/VivificanousPrime
Summary: Tensions are rising, and it’s becoming clear to the fearful that war is on the horizon.Prowl has unintentionally gotten himself involved in a movement to overthrow Sentinel Prime while investigating the assassination of a High Council Senator. The enforcer knows if he stays to help reform a society built on hate and Functionalism, he could never return to Praxus. He's left with only one choice: escape now while he still can.Well Jazz is having none of that.
Relationships: Chromedome/Rewind (Transformers), Jazz/Prowl, Ratchet/Wheeljack (Transformers)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	Stay or Leave, I Want You Not to Go

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Apparently it's Prowl Week (?) (I'm new), so I wanted to post a cute fic with one of my favorite pairings.  
> If you've read my other work, this takes place all in the same storyline. It's part of a larger plot I have in mind that goes through the events leading up to the war to a little after the war ends. Let me know if you like it, and I can get to posting more!
> 
> Title is from the Dave Matthews song "Stay or Leave"

There were many factors to consider.

First and foremost: his image. Thus far he had done well to maintain a low profile while still climbing the ranks. Many mechs had fought and shoved to receive his level of prestige, so he was proud to say he had become Chief Investigative Enforcer through simple dedication and an honor code. His pristine reputation would do him well in returning home, Prowl was sure.

There was the matter of whether he would even be listened to. The ticket to Praxus was easy to obtain, but to actually be allowed in was a completely different ordeal. Prowl gazed at the shuttle pass in his servo. Such an expensive thing, and all it did was transport him to the gates of his home. There was no contacting ahead; he had already tried to no avail. Prowl would need to rely on the mood of the Gate Keepers and the information his watchers had relayed. It all came back to his reputation. If his watchers had reported to his family his good behavior, and they found the situation in Iacon an adequate reason to return, then perhaps he would be greeted at the border by a loved one and not a gun.

If more recent events had reached Praxus though…

Prowl vented in frustration. He shut his optics, trying to shut out thoughts of losing everything he had worked so hard to cultivate all because of events he could not control. The ticket was thrown on the counter, and Prowl returned to his stressful packing.

It would work, he reassured himself. He would get home.

The streets were busy with people rushing about to who-knows-where for who-knows-what reasons. Jazz didn’t see the need for the hurry. He swaggered passed building after building, weaving calmly between the people sweeping by. He could drive, but it was a nice day out, and he felt so light. Despite—or perhaps in spite—of current circumstance. What else was he to do? Their meeting (which it was looking like he would be late for) would discuss all the troubles that plagued them. Right now, there was no reason not to enjoy the nice days Primus gifted them. If things were going the way he was thinking, there wouldn’t be many of these left to soak in.

So, he walked in a happy daze to the warehouse in lower Iacon their little group of revolutionaries had taken residence in. The large faux wall on the side of the abandoned structure opened at his entry code, and he was greeting by a roomful of friends and like-minded peers. Jazz dazzled them with a customary smile.

“Having a nice morning?” Rachet asked with a smirk. A world of annoyance in that kind, little greeting just oozing with sarcasm.

Jazzed fixed the grump with an overly enthusiastic grin. “I am Ratch! How kind of you to ask!”

“You can’t keep showing up late, afthead.” Ratchet dropped the act and sent him a hard glare. “We set up a time for a reason. Not everyone has a flexible schedule.”

“He’s, like, two breems passed 12th joor, Doc,” Wheeljack chuckled at his lover. “You’re starting to sound like Prowl.”

“As if!” Ratchet huffed with a full body recoil, like the thought of transforming into the Praxian was the worst reformate imaginable.

The rest of the room consisted of shaking helms and grins at the quite common bickering from the duo. Jazz noted those in attendance. Ratchet and Wheeljack sat in their usual corner, side-by-side, Roller lounging to their left, then meek little Orion Pax, and Blaster—he shot a quick nod to his friend—who had Rewind and Eject deployed so Rewind could chat with, Chromedome…whose partner was conspicuously missing.

“Where is our new perfectionist?’ he asked.

Chromedome was the one to snort and pipe up, “Not here.”

“Well, yeah,” Jazz laughed as he made his way to his seat between Pax and Blaster. “Don’t tell me he’s later than me!”

“He’s not coming at all. He bailed.”

Jazz came to a grinding halt. “Bailed?”

“He said he couldn’t get involved,” Orion said, voice a little shy as he looked up at Jazz with sympathy. “I tried to talk to him, but he was quite convinced.”

“When you last see him?”

“Last night.”

Jazz recalled the last time he himself had seen the mech. Yesterday morning was it? Prowl had been short. Uneasy. Like he wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it. He had assumed the enforcer was just a tad overwhelmed and needed time to process everything. It was a lot for Prowl, Jazz figured, to be told he had accidently discovered an undercover organization bent on breaking the current laws, wrong as the laws were. Prowl, though, had seemed to agree that things needed to change; completely bailing didn’t line up.

The corner of Jazz’s mouth tugged down. “He at work today, Dome?”

“No, at home. We both took time off.”

“Thanks,” Jazz said he turned around to leave. “Ya’ll start without me!”

He didn’t stop to hear any of the protests, even those from Blaster as he got up to stop his friend. Jazz dropped into vehicle mode and took off.

That Prowl had left his window open was a good sign to Jazz that he was allowed in. He climbed up the side of the apartment as he done numerous times before and swung feet-first into the living room.

Prowl started at the sound, nearly dropping whatever he was holding.

“Primus! Jazz!” Prowl did not sound the least bit happy at his presence. Great start.

“Just came to check on you,” he swayed as he grinned, trying to look as innocent as possible. “You didn’t show.”

Prowl’s gaze dropped like he was checking his chronometer. “I assume you mean for the meeting. That you are quite late for.”

“That I _invited_ you to,” Jazz countered with a little rock on his peds.

“I told Chromedome to relay my absence.”

“That he did.”

Prowl’s wings hiked up in a ‘V’. The motion gave Jazz a pause. Prowl’s plating… “I will reiterate, then: I will not be in attendance.” …It was backwards! His black sections were painted white and the white sections black. Overall, he looked plain weird.

“Yeah, no, I got that.” Jazz lifted his hands in a surrender, more than a little distracted by his friend’s change. “Just want to hear from you why.”

“That is a personal matter. Why would you care to know?”

A frown graced Jazz’s features. “…You’re my friend, mech. If you going through something, you can talk to me.”

“I have already decided.”

“Then enlighten me.” He lowered himself on the arm of Prowl’s couch.

Prowl dropped his wings a fraction in resignation. Jazz would not be leaving without a conversation.

“This…mess…you and your associates are initiating; it is not something I can become involved in.”

“Yeah, I heard that.”

“That is the extent of it.”

“Prowler—”

“ _Prowl_ ,” he growled.

“—I know it’s a lot. But hear me out—”

“There is nothing more to say, Jazz.” Prowl looked far away. His wings fanned out and sunk, catching the harsh light pouring from the open window Jazz had climbed in from. Trapped in Prowl’s somber glow, Jazz could do nothing past stare at his friend. “I will stop now before I am in too deep to escape.”

As Prowl turned to walk away, Jazz was suddenly reminded that he was holding something. A subspace container by the looks of it.

“You clean up when you’re stressed or something?” It was meant to be joking, but Prowl pulled his field closer to his person, turning Jazz nervous. “Prowler?”

“As I said, I must escape now while I still can,” he said slow and evenly, face lax and void of emotion.

“You…wait, you’re leaving?”

“This is necessary, Jazz—”

“Where?” Jazz rose to stand closer, but with every step forward, Prowl took one back.

“I have to return home. The state of things here…I can’t…it will ruin me, do you understand?”

“Yes! Believe me, I know.” Jazz stood still. He raised his servos in a pleading motion. “When I first got caught up in this, I got worried what it would do to business. I run the risk of losing the club—my life’s work—if the wrong people find out who my friends are.”

Prowl looked at him as though Jazz had said he was quitting music to become an engineer. “So, you see the position you have placed yourself in and willfully choose to remain?”

“It’s worth it.”

“It really isn’t.”

“To make a better future for everyone, not just me? Yeah, it is.”

Prowl was taken aback. “Your spark is kind, Jazz, but highly irrational.”

“What happened to compassion for others?” Jazz accused.

“It is not for myself that I leave!” It was Jazz’s turn to be struck. Prowl had never raised his voice at him before, so he quieted himself and his stance to allow his friend to speak. Prowl recollected himself, bringing his wings to a higher, more dignified position. “Do you think me that shallow?” he asked with a hollow tone.

“No,” Jazz said with a strong sense of honesty flooding his outstretched field. “It’s why I don’t get why you’re running.”

Prowl avoided his gaze as he said, “I must keep my family in mind with every decision I make. If I were to stay and help your group reform Iacon, I would bring dishonor to my family.” He fixed his eyes on Jazz. “I would effectively destroy them.”

“How, though?” Jazz stepped closer. “You said you left them, right? So, it don’t matter what you do, then. You’re on your own.”

Prowl recalled the conversation, an emotion breaking through the façade for just a moment before he looked off again and regained control of his features. “True that I left them, yes, but family ties are not so easily broken.”

“How would they even know what you’re up to if you don’t talk with them?”

Prowl didn’t answer, just shifted uncomfortably from ped to ped, eyes downcast. Jazz recognized the motion as Prowl’s way of saying the topic was one he could not discuss, so Jazz shifted tactics.

“Okay, so don’t get hooked in this—that’s fine, I promise—but what’s keeping you from staying?”

Prowl reset his optics, still not looking up. “I have already come in contact with you and yours. Should your enterprise be exposed, I would be drawn in again by association, quiet as it may be.” Prowl ended his staring contest with the floor to fix Jazz with a serious look. “I will still lose.”

Jazz ran a servo down his faceplates. Prowl was an unyielding force; one he wasn’t certain he could nudge let alone move.

“I will keep your name out of it. I swear.”

“That is not something you can guarantee.”

“Prowler—”

“Why are you so insistent?” Prowl took another step back.

Jazz’s mouth opened and closed a few times, unsure what to say or how to say it. Shaking his helm, he asked, “Don’t you like it better here?”

Prowl shifted uneasily, shoulders and wings raised. “I am indifferent.”

There was no way he was going to let Prowl feed him scrap. “No, you ain’t. You said yourself: there were reasons you left Praxus. You told me you didn’t mind Iacon.”

“Do you even like it here?”

It was an avoidance tactic, Jazz knew, but if it delayed Prowl’s leaving, he would humor it. “It ain’t bad,” he shrugged.

“Even the inhabitants?” Prowl sounded as though he had found an opening in Jazz’s defenses and was building to his attack. It made Jazz hesitate and search his friend for any indication of what answer he was looking for.

“They got their flaws—”

“They have their opinions and feel justified to share them.” Prowl took another step back.

“I ain’t defending them—”

“How often are you told to return to Polyhex?”

Jazz invented. “I don’t listen to them anymore.”

“I am told at least once a decacycle to go back home. That Iacon does not want ‘my kind’ here.” Another step.

“I get it, I know! It’s why this movement is so important—”

“And I am ridiculed by your group for being ‘uptight’ or ‘a glitch’.” And another.

“They ain’t gotten to know you, yet—”

“It has been made clear that I am not welcomed. Not by Functionalists, not by anti-Functionalists, not by even my colleagues and peers.” Prowl caught himself, straightening and hardening his features. The way he stared Jazz down seemed so unlike the mech he had come to know. It was emotionless, imposing, and lifeless. “I have overstayed my welcome; recent events have certainly proved that.” Another step back, and Prowl receded into the next room.

There was no denying what was said. Jazz had experienced it all first-hand: the accusatory looks, the fear and suspicion at the sight of his visor, the rude gestures thrown his way, the clear message that he was not wanted in this highly-esteemed city. He had been on enough walks with him to know Prowl had similar experiences. And he was right. The difference between the two, however, was that Jazz had a support network of people who wanted him, and Prowl did not.

Jazz didn’t say a word more as Prowl gathered the rest of his things and made to leave the shabby little apartment.

“I ended my lease, so you need to be out of here by next cycle.” Jazz sat in his spot on the couch and watched as Prowl swept past. The Praxian carried only one bag as the rest he had shoved into subspace. The two stared at one another for a heavy moment, waiting for the other to end the tension. But what more could really be said?

Finally, Prowl broke and moved to the doorway to look himself over in the mirror hung there. The reversed paint job did nothing to complement his frame, Jazz noted, not like his normal self. The now-black plating on his legs, forearms, and chest stood out awkwardly from his now-white joints and abdomen. Even his brilliantly red chevron had been dulled to a near grey. It made him appear boxy despite his sleek, elegant design.

“What’s up with the wack paint job?” Jazz tried not to sound so somber, but he couldn’t hide his mood. Prowl didn’t give any indication he had heard Jazz speak let alone that he would answer him. His now-white wings hung steady in indifference. “You don’t look like you, Prowler.”

Again, silence with no end in sight. No understandings to be reached. No common grounds to stand on.

“Prowl,” Jazz began carefully, “why did you leave Praxus?”

It was a question that had been asked innocently the day they had met. Jazz was trying to strike up conversation topics and had asked merely out of curiosity from one immigrant to another. Prowl had stiffened then, as he did now. It was an uncomfortable topic, and Jazz had decided not to bring it up again.

But this was evidently the end, so why not?

“I am not in a position to make choices, Jazz.” It wasn’t the answer Jazz was hoping for, neither was Prowl’s defeated look. Prowl really believed he was trapped, Jazz realized, and there was nothing more he could do to convince him otherwise.

Without another look, Prowl gathered himself and slipped away.

By the time Jazz had slinked back to the warehouse, the meeting had adjourned, and its occupants were beginning to leave. Roller had pulled him aside and filled him in on recent events, but Jazz wasn’t really absorbing any of it. He stood quiet until Blaster placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“How’d it go with Prowl?” he asked.

Jazz fixed him with a sarcastic frown, effectively stating how stupid the question was. Blaster mimicked the cue and gave him a pat. “That bad, mech?”

“He ain’t coming back.”

“It’s just how Prowl is,” Chromedome reassured. “He avoids controversy and conflict like it’s rust. He’s a coward, ask anyone at the precinct.”

“Prowl is many things, but a coward is not one of them,” Jazz asserted.

“Did he say anything about spilling?” Roller asked, an edge in his voice.

“And get himself in trouble? He wouldn’t.,” Chromedome assured.

“No! He—,” Jazz reset his vocalizer, “—it’s personal not political.”

“Does he think he’s just going to waltz back into work tomorrow like nothing happened?” Ratchet laughed.

Jazz in-vented deliberately, avoiding everyone’s gaze. “Not if he don’t go back to work at all, no.”

“…He’s… _bailing_ bailing?” A small hint of sadness laced Chromedome’s words, visor brightening.

“As in leaving Iacon?” Blaster asked disbelieving. “Where the pit is he gunna go?”

“Where do you think a Praxian is going to run to?” Jazz knew what Ratchet meant—and he was right—but still, he frowned at his friend’s choice of words.

“I was under the impression he wasn’t welcomed back,” Rewind stated, holding up a servo to make sure he was noticed.

“No, I was, too.” Chromedome glanced down at the cassette. “I have never heard him say one good thing about the place!”

“He has his reasons,” Jazz disagreed.

“Like what?” Chromedome asked.

Jazz mulled over their conversation, looking for something to defend his friend’s decision without betraying his trust. It may not have mattered to someone else in his position, but even if he never saw Prowl again, Jazz wouldn’t disclose private details Prowl had entrusted him with. “He said, uh…he said it’s a personal matter.”

“Personal how?” Chromedome pushed, trying to understand his fellow enforcer. “What else did he say?”

“That’s the extent of it,” Jazz huffed.

“That can’t be—”

“Prowl’s personal life is his business,” Blaster interrupted.

“He just doesn’t make any sense…” Chromedome ran a hand up the back of his helm.

“Then you didn’t really know him,” Jazz said with a spark of frustration.

Ratchet caught on to the look. It was one he was familiar with wearing on the rare occasion some idiot insulted Wheeljack in front of him. Sharp eyes, tight lips, and a glare that could easily kill a fool. A thought occurred to him. “Jazz…” The mech addressed look over, gaze softening after meeting his more open stance. “We’ll all miss Prowl.”

“Sure, yeah,” Jazz threw out.

“ _You’ll_ miss Prowl, right?”

Jazz hardened again. “Of course I will.”

Ah, there was the fight Ratchet was looking for. The doctor smirked. “You made sure to explain that to him then, yes?” At Jazz’s hesitation, Ratchet put his servos on his hips. He was working with a special breed of moron it seemed. “You mean that _you_ wanting him to stick around was _never_ in the conversation?”

“Not…those exact words.”

“ _Jazz_ —”

“But he’s got to know that!” Jazz argued, throwing his arms out. “What kind of friend doesn’t want their friends around?”

“Prowl,” Chromedome laughed. “He’s the _densest_ mech I have ever met. Stuff like that goes right passed him; bet he won’t even think of us.”

There was some truth in that, Jazz had to admit. It took spelling out exactly how someone perceived him for Prowl to know how to approach them. Even with people he knew, like Chromedome…and him.

Of course, Jazz realized, it didn’t matter that they were friends. It didn’t matter that Jazz had gone to his apartment to try and stop him. Prowl would not get—even consider—that he would be missed or wanted in any way by anyone here unless it was explicitly said to him. And it was not. So, he had left…

Ratchet watched as dawning realization rose out of Jazz, alighting his visor and straightening his back. Just one more nudge: “Don’t you happen to know where Prowl is going?”

Jazz locked optics with Ratchet, mouth a little agape. He closed it, and his whole body tensed with determination. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

It was a perfect day for speeding. The streets were crowded just enough for Jazz’s law breaking to go widely unnoticed by local Enforcers, though Jazz was sure he wouldn’t out-run Prowl’s chastising later. And there would be a later.

In record breaking time, Jazz arrived at Iacon’s transit station. Sure enough, there was one small shuttle set to depart to Praxus in about a joor. Stealing himself, Jazz bought a ticket (to somewhere else, Praxus was fragging expensive!) so he could get inside. Without any packages in his subspace, he was out of security relatively fast with—he checked his chrono—less than half a joor before takeoff.

Jazz booked it. The shuttle to Praxus was all the way at the end of the corridor with the other low-priority flights. People stepped aside as he rushed past. Jazz processed none of his surroundings short of the numbers labelling the corridor.

Ten breems.

The hall ended at a dead end. Frantic, Jazz scrutinized the shuttle bay until he spotted the most beautiful sight he had ever seen: Prowl, standing alone on the platform, his door wings catching the afternoon light like a beacon. People milled about nearby, but Jazz was laser-focused on the Praxian. There was a sadness about him as the late afternoon sun sunk into the distant horizon, illuminating his terrible black and white paintjob. It was absolutely stunning.

He yelled before he could think to stop himself.

“ _Prowler!_ ”

Wings twitched up, their owner searching his neighbors for the source of the call.

The source answered by barreling into him from behind.

Prowl grunted and twisted to meet his assailant, freezing on the spot. “ _Jazz?_ ”

“You catching a flight, mech?” A goofy grin played on Jazz’s features, the sun catching in his visor and lighting up his handsome face. Jazz loosened his grip only to adjust them so that he was hugging Prowl front-to-front, tucked under his arms, and had a perfect view of Prowl’s stony face.

“To Praxus, yes, we discussed this already.”

“Funny! I’m going to…ah, I don’t remember what I bought.”

“Our conversation ended,” Prowl fought, frustration building. “There is no more to say.”

“I got loads to talk about!”

“No. My mind remains unchanged.”

The words landed on deaf audios as Jazz tightened his hold on the Praxian, minding the wings. Prowl stiffened in the forced embrace but made no move to be free of it. Testing his chances, Jazz moved to bury his helm in Prowl’s neck. An easy action with the two being the same height. Jazz held him a moment before leaning back to gaze at him.

“We’re not done, yet. I still got an argument left in me.”

“…And what, pray tell, could that be?”

Jazz made sure to extend his field to his friend and display his honesty. “You’re going to be missed, Prowler.”

Prowl made an ungraceful face. “I can assure you, no one will.”

“I’m serious.”

“In a few cycles, life will have moved on without my presence. I was not wanted here to begin with, remember?”

“There have been a few misunderstandings, I seen it,” Jazz admitted. “But it’s nothing time and company won’t fix.” He hugged Prowl closer. “ _I_ am going to miss you, though.”

Prowl’s body language changed. He looked surprised by the admission, but his chassis relaxed a fraction and his wings lowered from their threatened position. He waited for Jazz to elaborate.

“If you go, mech, that’s it,” Jazz explained. “You don’t talk to your family; I doubt you’d keep up contact with me. Whatever your circumstances are. I couldn’t see you anymore, and Prowler, I just don’t know that I can do that. I got used to having you around, to talking with you, to being your friend. Who else can I talk to about poetry or art? I got music buddies, sure, but you get real art like nobody I ever met! Pit, you get _me_ like nobody I ever met! I’ve become a better person ‘cause of you. Ain’t nobody I’m friends with ever told me off when I’m rude or let me know I stepped over a line.

And I _like_ you, Prowler. Primus knows how excited I get to see you! To see your face light up at a good deed done, or the way your wings flutter when it’s breezy. And when I can get a smile out of you, mech my day is made!” He smiled, a genuine giddy grin. “I want you not to go.”

Prowl’s pent up stress and anxiety gently ebbed away, leaving him comfortable in Jazz’s embrace, if a little flushed. He was still quite overwhelmed, his door wings refusing to fully drop in ease. Multiple times, he opened and closed his mouth at a loss for words as his optics glanced between Jazz and the shuttle bay.

“My family,” he spoke softly, “doesn’t make attempts to check on me. They may not even allow me back home after all this, no matter how much praise they used to throw at me before I left. If my own family can’t begin to miss me, how do you expect me to believe that you could?”

Jazz set a determined tone. “I don’t know all of what you been through there, but here? Here I know for certain that you are loved.” He grinned and gave Prowl a little squeeze. “At least by someone.”

“ _Shuttle Bay 874: Iacon Major to District 18. Shuttle arriving. Prepare for boarding._ ”

The announcement didn’t faze either mech the message pertained to. Jazz kept steady as Prowl seemed caught in turmoil. But he didn’t move away.

There was a lot to consider. If he stayed, there would be repercussions, but what would he really gain by leaving? Prowl conjured memories of home, of the tall, lifeless buildings, his equally lifeless peers, and his loved ones, who had made no attempts to stop him. There had been disagreements, threats to contain him, but in the end he had an easy time walking out Praxus’s gates. He couldn’t deny his belief of keeping home at the core of all things, but looking at Jazz, feeling the way he held him, Prowl doubted for the first time where home really was.

Because Jazz exhibited no doubts. No glimmer of mischief. No hesitation in his statements. He knew exactly what Prowl meant to him and was acting on his beliefs in a grand show of passion the likes of which Prowl had never encountered.

“ _Shuttle Bay 874: Iacon Major to District 18. Shuttle landing. Prepare for boarding._ ”

“Do you really…” Prowl’s gazed dropped, searching for the words. “You really want me to stay?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No doubts.

Prowl finally lifted his arms to return the hug, and Jazz took full advantage of the opening to pull him closer. The Praxian bowed his wings and moved to rest his head on Jazz, who leaned in to meet him.

The two remained that way—helms resting together cheek-to-cheek, in a tight embrace, optics shutting out the world—as a shuttle docked nearby. No one made to board.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! Please, please, please stay safe, wash your hands, and practice physical distancing! The world is crazy!


End file.
